


Lucky Thirteen

by Zilchtastic



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilchtastic/pseuds/Zilchtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things happen sort of abruptly. It's late, and they're both still humming from a brief, nasty fight, adrenaline pumping with no more demons left to take it out on. Dante sheaths his sword and glances down at Lady. Lady gives him a look right back, long and hot and considering like she's wondering what he tastes like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Thirteen

Things happen sort of abruptly. It's late, and they're both still humming from a brief, nasty fight, adrenaline pumping with no more demons left to take it out on. Dante sheaths his sword and glances down at Lady. Lady gives him a look right back, long and hot and considering like she's wondering what he tastes like.

Dante kind of smirks at her. "Your place or mine?"

"What's your place got?"

"At the moment? Cold pizza and warm beer."

Lady's mouth twists to one side. "My place it is."

'Her place' turns out to be a halfway-decent hotel in a less-than-decent neighborhood. The streets are dirty and cracked, but once they're inside the walls are all wallpapered and the carpets are clean. Everything smells bland the way only nameless hotels can, as if the constant scrubbing and vacuuming and disinfecting has washed every trace of personality away.

Lady is in room 13-- _Lucky thirteen,_ Dante thinks. He watches her shove the door open hard so it bangs against the wall inside. Her eyes scan the room, just in case. Lady is fucking _hot stuff_, and it ain't just because of the schoolgirl skirt. Dante follows her in.

He goes for his belt almost before the door's even shut, and Lady laughs and backs him up against it. "Whoa there, slow down, cowboy. This isn't a race."

He grins down at her. "You don't look like the patient type to me."

"I'm not, unless I want to be." She pushes his hands away and starts tugging on his belt herself. "Jacket," she says, distractedly. "Off."

Dante sets his sword against the wall and shrugs out of the leather, lets it pool at his feet in a heavy blood-red heap. Lady's tugging the belt hard enough that it jerks him a little forward every time it hits a belt loop, and Dante laughs and grabs her hands to stop her. "Now who's moving too fast? At least let me get another layer off."

Lady bares her teeth at him. "Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I wanna see how fast I can get you screaming my name."

"Which one do you want me to scream?"

She shakes off his hands and then pulls his zipper down with a violent yank. "Depends. You want to keep this intact, or no?" She cups him then, right through his pants, and gives him a toe-curling little squeeze.

Dante curses and arches his back. "Nnh. Sure. Lady it is, then."

"Thought you'd say that."

It shouldn't look so cool when she drops to her knees, but Lady does everything like she's in charge, apparently even this. Dante pulls in a steadying breath and then loses it almost immediately when she pulls him out and goes right to town.

"Whoa, fuck, damn." His head rocks back against the door. "Shit."

Lady laughs around him and then draws back. "Save a few swearwords for the finale. You're going to run out before the end."

"Nah, mine are rechargeable-- Oh, hot damn, do that _again_\--"

Lady does it again. Dante bites his lip and tries to rock his hips, tries to shove in deeper, because it's already too damn good. Lady makes a noise, a little low moan, like it's good for her, too. It's almost impossibly hot, the way her mismatched eyes go heavy-lidded and dark, the way her lips turn up at the corners like she's trying to smile.

Dante runs fingers through her hair, gently, and she growls at him.

"Am I playin' too nice for you? Fine, don't whine to me when you're fixing your hair later, though." Dante grins down and gives her hair a sharp tug.

Lady moans at that, long and shockingly loud. Dante almost loses it right there.

"Whoa, okay, slow down." He's panting already, and his legs don't want to hold as well as they did five minutes ago. "Jesus, Lady, cut me some slack--" She does something utterly wicked with her tongue, and Dante has to grab himself at the base, has to put some pressure on just to keep from coming on the spot.

Lady draws back, something malicious glittering in her eyes. "Didn't know you were this easy, Dante."

There ought to be a joke in there, something witty about being _this hard_, but Dante can't summon the brainpower to string it in the form of a sentence. "Give a guy a sporting chance," he manages, and Lady laughs.

"Fine." She stands up like it's easy, like her knees don't even hurt although the floor is just thin carpet over cement. "Here's your chance. Try and make me--"

Dante kisses her, hard, before she can finish the thought. It's sloppy and a little frantic, and when they part Lady laughs again.

"You've got a good argument, I'll give you that." Her fingers flicker at the buttons of her shirt and they part easily-- _pop, pop, pop_. Her bra underneath is just a haze of white lace, too see-through to be innocent like the color suggests.

"I've got a lot of good things," Dante says, and he even manages a smirk that doesn't feel too wobbly. Lady's eyes go even darker, like she's picturing it already.

"Yeah? I think you should show me."

She shrugs out of her shirt while Dante starts fiddling with her belt-- too many damn buckles and pockets and-- he figures it out, finally. It slides to the ground with a heavy _whump_ and the jingle of keys and what can only be spare ammo rattling.

"Too many layers," he complains, looking for the zipper on her skirt and finding the hilt of a small knife tucked into her waistband at the small of her back instead. Lady grins, mostly just baring her teeth, and pulls his fingers to a zipper on the side.

The skirt hits the floor. Her little black shorts follow, along with the knife. Her underwear, it turns out, match the bra.

"_Damn_," Dante says, with feeling. He wants to tell her she's beautiful, but Lady's the type who's just angry enough inside to take it wrong. Instead he traces the lace edge of her bra and says, "Is this what you do with all the money you take from me? Buy fancy underwear?"

"Among other things. I like fancy dresses and fancy guns, too."

"Fancy rocket launchers?"

She shows her teeth again. "They're rocket launchers. They don't need to be fancy."

He backs her up toward the neatly-made bed. She sits down heavily on the edge, almost sprawling, and goes for the laces on her boots.

"Leave 'em on," Dante says, quickly.

Lady raises her eyebrows. "Kinky."

He slides a hand up one milky-pale thigh. "You want the gloves off, or on?"

"Leave 'em on," she says, breath coming out in a hot rush as he slides leather higher to the edge of damp white lace.

"Kinky," he says, and then he drops to his knees and follows that path with lips and teeth and tongue.

Lady makes a noise and leans back on her elbows, watching him, breathing quick now with anticipation. She wets her lips, almost nervously, and says "C'mon."

White lace tears like paper under his hands.

"Sonofabitch," Lady hisses, sounding more excited than angry. "Those were _new_."

"I'll buy you new ones," Dante murmurs, and then he's leaning in to taste her.

Lady arches and moans immediately, thighs quivering like she wants to close them, so Dante puts a hand on each thigh, holding them apart. She moans at that, too. The black leather of his gloves is a startling contrast against her white skin, and he'll think about that later, when he isn't so busy. She's so hot under his tongue, hot and salt-sweet, and when he sucks at her right _there_ she cries out, loudly.

"Dante," she gasps, and then "_c'mon_." She tugs at his hair, hard enough to hurt in a really good way.

He bites at her hip, sucks on the spot to leave a mark. "Something you wanted?"

"Get naked," she says, all steel. "_Now._ Get up here and--"

He climbs to his feet. "Whatever the lady wants."

The rest of his clothes hit the floor, leaving little islands of red and black that jingle with change and buckles and spare ammo, too. Lady watches, smiles approvingly when he's laid bare at last. She draws up one leg in blatant invitation. "Waiting for more orders?"

Dante crawls onto the bed, moves with her as she shifts higher, so he's over her on all fours. "Maybe I like it when you boss me," he says, and maybe it's actually kind of true, too.

"Mm, I'll remember that next time you-- _Oh_."

He moves against her, sliding into position. One shove is all it will take-- she's so wet, so ready. "Yeah?" His voice comes out as a growl, barely even human.

"Yeah," she says, and when he presses forward her legs come up to circle his hips, drawing him in deep.

It's all heat and slickness then. He's vaguely aware that she's moaning, that her hips are jerking in time with his thrusts, that he can feel the hard press of her boot-heels digging into his lower spine. Lady's face is flushed, her hair is in disarray, and she's still mostly wearing her bra, although one strap has slipped down her shoulder. He licks the hollow of her throat, tasting sweat and perfume. Her nails dig into his back.

"C'mon," she whispers, and he can feel her tighten, knows she's close. Her boot-heels dig in harder. "I can take it."

So he gives it to her harder, trusting her to be strong enough, trusting her to know her limits. Her head tilts back and her nails rake across his skin in a line of pleasure-pain. Blood trickles and stops almost immediately as he heals. He bites her throat, possessive, hard.

Lady's not a screamer, but her snarl is fierce and satisfied as she comes. She trembles through it and then keeps holding on while Dante struggles toward the finish line himself. It's her hands in his hair that send him over the edge at last-- not pulling, just _there_, fingers almost gentle. It's more than he can take. He buries his face in her shoulder, gasping, swearing, snarling. It's so good, so fucking good, _yes_\--

She lets him stay there for a long time while he gets his breath and his composure back, even though he must be disgustingly heavy. Her fingers thread through his hair, almost tentatively, like she's worried about what he'll say when he notices. Dante lets out a long breath and then kisses her ear.

"Thanks," he says.

"Don't mention it." Lady's voice is dry but amused, maybe even fond. Her hand slips out of his hair and she gives his shoulder a little shrug. "Heavy," she complains, adding a little unconvincing _oof_ for emphasis. Dante laughs and rolls off of her, onto his back. The ceiling is cracked, he notices, and waterstained. It makes him feel unaccountably guilty, since Lady had to stare up at it the whole time.

"Next time," he says, "let's go to my place."

"Your place is a pigsty," Lady says, and then: "What makes you think there's _going_ to be a next time, hotshot?"

"My incredible sexual allure," Dante says, and is both pleased and a little insulted when she curls up laughing. Once she's calmed down to a few spare giggles he adds, "I'll clean, if you're that picky about it. Maybe I'll even buy toilet paper."

"You're such a gentleman." Lady rolls off the bed and heads for the bathroom, peeling out of her bra so now she's in her heavy boots and nothing else. The sight makes Dante's pulse jump again, and she throws a glance over her shoulder, like she knows it. Probably she does. Lady has mysterious ways like that. "You coming?"

"Already did."

"I meant the shower." She purses her lips, looks considering for a moment. "Although if you play your cards right..."

He's up for another round-- the thought of Lady all naked and wet and soapy is more than enough to peel his lazy ass off the bed. Demonic recovery time has never served him so well. "I'm coming. You sure you can--"

"Don't go all soft on me now," she snaps, so he lets it go. If she doesn't mind the bruises she'll have tomorrow, he's not going to argue. Her hard look melts away by degrees, and after a minute she adds, "You can buy me dinner, if you feel that bad."

"Aren't we doing this in the wrong order?" he asks, but he's grinning as he follows her into the white-tiled bathroom.

"Fuck order," Lady says, and Dante kind of has to agree with that. He figures the way they do things is just fine.


End file.
